Dean's Special Someone
by Daisy1600
Summary: After being fired from his job for lying about the origins of a sever shoulder injury, Dean began working from home. And it turns out that he has an incredibly active, and not to mention attractive, neighbor with an incredibly annoying dog.
1. Distractions, distractions

Dean had sustained a severe shoulder injury from going to fight club at night after a long day of work at the office where he had been a software engineer, which led him to having to make up an excuse to tell his boss and he'd ended up telling him that he'd fallen down the stairs on the way up to his house one day.

Needless to say, that conversation had ended in him being fired, and he'd had to look for work elsewhere.

He was good with stuff like computers and phones, so it was only logical that he'd get a job doing something that had to do with one or the other. His friend Daniel had suggested being a transcriptionist since it meant he could stay at home and watch TV all day. Kinda. He had to watch a wrestling show and transcribe everything the people were saying, and it kinda bothered his bum shoulder, but a hot shower and some arnica salve usually helped in taking some of his pain and discomfort away.

After he'd gotten the job and knew what exactly he was supposed to do, he decided his little set up would be in front of a large window in the den, since it had good lighting and made him feel a little bit less like a hermit. And one morning, while he had his headphones on and was watching a video clip his employer had e-mailed him, ready to type all the trash talk the guy was spitting into the microphone at some other dude, he glanced up only to see one of his neighbors walking their small dog down the strip of sidewalk directly in front of his window.

He'd never properly introduced himself to the man before, never had a conversation with him that lasted more than fifteen seconds, but he lived across the street from him and had occasionally seen him outside his house picking up mail, always holding the little dog in his arms. He's pretty sure the breed is a yorkie, but he isn't all that well-versed on subject of small yappy dogs.

There was also that one time he'd seen the man who was currently shirtless, medium-length hair tied in a low bun, dropping some mail off on his doorstep that'd been sent to his house by mistake. Dean may or may not have been wearing a sling for his arm along with a five o'clock shadow and a bathrobe at the time, opening the door and giving the man a blank stare as he dropped off the magazines and spam, the fucking dog cradled in his arms.

He let out a loud huff, replaying the last thirty seconds of the video clip and typing what the man was saying before he could get distracted by shirtless men walking tiny dogs again.

It was half an hour later when he was taking a short break from listening to the video and typing until his shoulder was all but begging him to _stop_ , that he'd got up and stretched a bit before making himself a plain and simple turkey sandwich with lettuce because he's a healthy son of a bitch. He'd also grabbed a beer out of the fridge to go along with it since it was a Monday and he had no friends and nowhere to go, so why not get buzzed?

He'd just finished his sandwich, brushing crumbs out of his light stubble and lifting the beer can to his lips, when he'd made the mistake of looking up and seeing the man from earlier jogging past his house rather than just walking. The yappy little dog now cradled in his big, bulked up arms. Guess he's trying to get his and his dog's workout done all in one trip. He's indeed one strange, strange man.

He mopped up the slight mess of liquid he'd spat on the table using a random shirt he'd found on the floor before putting his headphones back on and cranking up the volume up on his laptop to drown out all potential distractions.

The man had continued walking his dog every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since the first time Dean had witnessed the strange sight. Why the guy continued to walk his tiny pooch only to jog home holding it, he didn't know. He himself had never been much of an outdoorsy kinda guy, usually just went to the gym and hit the treadmill for a couple of hours after a lazy week. He also didn't get the whole 'dog being your best friend' thing. He never had a pet. Never really had a family or a home either.

And even now that he has a place to call his own he doesn't feel much of a pull toward adopting a pet. He sees golden retrievers and.. uh, other big and small dogs alike with their owners, looking happy as clams when they go on walks together, yet he feels no need to have a bond like that with an animal himself.

Suddenly remembering he had _work_ to do, he rewound the last three minutes of the video he was watching and forced himself to start paying attention.


	2. Numero Dos

A couple of weeks later found him having to leave the comfort of his home to fetch the mail. Instead of wearing nothing but boxers, a wife beater, and a ratty old bathrobe, he actually made the effort to dress up. Kinda. He was wearing jeans that were.. semi-new, as well as one of his favorite black hoodies that wasn't too shabby, though it wasn't something he'd wear out and about. He'd at least put on one of his newer, more clean and un-stained hoodies that was more form fitting.

But none of that mattered since all he needed to do was walk the thirty feet to the end of his driveway to collect spam and some drama filled magazines he sometimes read while sitting on the toilet.

He opened the front door, stepping out onto the front porch and doing a once-over of the neighborhood before sneakily fast-walking toward the end of the driveway where his choo choo train mailbox was located. It was a lame little gimmick Daniel had given him as a house warming gift when he'd moved in a few years ago.

He eventually made it to the mailbox, opening it up and taking out all of its contents. He tiredly flipped through it on his way back up the driveway, seeing bills, junk, more junk, a men's fashion magazine, and- a baby shower invitation for a Seth Rollins.

He stopped in his tracks, flipping the letter over in his hands a couple of times before hesitantly reading the address neatly scrawled on it. Of fucking course it was for the man who lives directly across the street from him. The same one he sees walk past his house three times a week at almost the exact same time.

Swallowing his pride, he stomped his way back down the driveway and looked both ways before crossing the street. Once he was in front of the house belonging to the man he now knew to be Seth, he pounded on the door with his good arm and waited a few agonizingly long seconds before deciding on giving up completely and preparing to toss the letter on the porch and go home when the door suddenly opened and a confused, slightly raspy voice rang through his ears.

"Uh.. can I help you?"

He turned to face the Seth guy, eyes narrowed at the tiny dog in his arms, hand extended. "Here," he muttered, beginning to shake the letter around a bit when the guy didn't immediately grab it.

"Oh, uh, thanks, Mr..." the man trailed off, adjusting his hold on the surprisingly calm dog, and looking both confused and intrigued. Strange, he should know his last name since he's given Dean his mail before.

"Dean. Call me Dean." He replied before turning away from the man and animal who jog past his house every so often. It seemed as though the Seth guy wore black thick brimmed geeky looking glasses when he was relaxing at home with his dog. Or at least before he left for work in the morning.

"Seth. Uh, again, thanks for the letter, Dean. Wouldn't miss my best friends baby shower for the world."

He glanced back at Seth, shrugging his good shoulder and muttering a reply he probably hadn't even heard. "S'nothing." He then went on his marry way, stomping his way back across the street where he went back inside his house and sat down at his little work station in the den. He couldn't help but look out the window and stare at his neighbors house for a minute.

Soon enough, he got his head on straight and tossed his junk mail aside, focusing on doing his _job_ and putting his headphones on.

He opened his e-mail and downloaded the newest video file he'd been sent. Setting his jaw, he zeroed in on the screen that had wrestlers kicking the crap out of each other. It was better than having the image of his shirtless, dog carrying neighbor stuck in his head.

A month or so later, when Dean was minding his own business, just stepping outside his house at the crack of dawn to bring in his trash cans, he saw none other than Seth Rollins doing the same thing. Only this time his not-so yappy little dog wasn't with him. Instead, the little fur ball was sitting on the front porch, not making a sound as its owner dragged the black trashcan up the driveway and brought it around to the side of his house. When the guy came back for the blue recycling bin, he looked up and caught Dean in the act of staring at him from across the street.

He tore his gaze away from the man he'd seen jogging outside his house three days a week (not to mention those times he'd watched him check his mailbox from the window in his den), grabbing his own empty garbage can and wheeling it up the driveway. When he went back for can numero dos, the blue recycling one, his neighbor was standing by his own front door, his tiny dog cradled in his bulked up arms.

Dean stared at him for a moment, furrowing his brow and letting out a loud huff when the man shifted his pooch into one arm like weird girls in movies do, and waved at him with his free one. He quickly turned and dragged the bin up the driveway, not giving Rollins a second glance.

Once he'd rolled the surprisingly heavy receptacle around to the side of his house, Dean went back inside and washed his hands before cracking his knuckles and getting a head start on what would end up being hours of work he'd been assigned to do.


	3. Grouchy Old Dean Ambrose

A few short days later Dean had just finished an extra long, grueling day of work and it was nearing seven o'clock at night. Earlier in the day, he had decided it was one of _those_ days. One of those days where you laze around in a flannel two-piece set of pajamas and do nothing but eat, work and watch your neighbor walk his dog from the window in the den before he has to leave for work.

Seth had been wearing faded jeans, a plain old black t-shirt he's probably had since college, a burgundy button-up shirt over top of it, and a pair of worker boots that looked kind of like timberlands but were more than likely not since they looked to be steel toed. He also couldn't help but notice the yellow hard hat in his hands. Meaning that he's either a construction worker or a stripper, though Dean's leaning more toward the first one.

But that was hours ago, probably over eight or nine, so Dean shouldn't even be thinking about it anymore. So why was he? Its certainly not because he wants a dog himself, that's for sure. It's probably just that he sees Seth all the time and is curious what his occupation is. It's a perfectly normal, not at all weird thing for one neighbor to want to know about another.

Sighing loudly, he shut his laptop and trudged on over to the fridge where he grabbed the half-eaten sandwich he'd left in there a few hours prior. He took it and the plate it was on over to the couch where he plopped down and groped the cushions he sat atop for the remote until he realized it was probably buried _between_ them and stuck his hand down the middle of the sofa, finding only lint, an old M&M and a nickel.

"Fuck," he cursed aloud, setting his plate down on the coffee table to begin searching the room for the lost remote. After ten or so minutes of flinging crap around and shedding a few tears, he found the misplaced device in the fridge behind the mustard. Huh, he must've left it there when he stopped watching TV much earlier in the morning to make a sandwich before getting to work...

Weird.

Feeling rightfully irritated and possibly a bit.. melancholy, he sat back down and nibbled on his cold and gross meal as he scrolled through the recorded programs on the DVR. He stopped once he'd gotten to 90's house. The show was god-awful, but the drama was so entertaining and.. and juicy.

As he sat back on the cushy couch and watched the trashy reality show, he couldn't help but feel like something was.. missing. No, not from the episode, but from his life. He felt as though there should be something, or rather, _someone_ sitting beside him watching crap television with him.

He could always beg Daniel to come over and sit through a half hour of bullshit with him, but that just really wasn't the guy's scene. He much preferred watching wrestling with Dean from time to time. Usually the show he transcribed for. And.. he hadn't seen his friend all that much since his injury. He didn't want to bother the guy, inconvenience him.

Half an hour later, not a moment after he'd finished the episode and was about to fall asleep on the couch, there was a hesitant knock at the door.

"Fuck, shit." He muttered, exhaustedly peeling himself off the couch and dragging his sock-clad feet across the floor and over to the door. He was wearing his pajamas but was far too lazy and comfortable to give a shit about what the person on the other side of the door thought of him. Plus, it was dark as shit outside aside from his porch light and a couple of dim street lamps.

He wiped his hands that were slightly greasy from the sandwich he'd eaten earlier on his pants before undoing the two locks on his door and swinging it open only to come face to face with none other than Seth Rollins and his fucking dog that was cradled in his arms. Man, he really needed to find something to call the little dog other than a combination of a swear and the word 'dog'.

"Yeah?" He grumbled, finding that he suddenly felt like hiding behind the door. For some inexplicable reason, he felt.. odd being seen in his pajamas in front of his neighbor. Which was definitely new to him, considering he's been seen wearing even less in front of him. Think boxers, a wife beater and a ratty old robe that's loosely tied.

"Oh, uh, sorry if I disturbed you or woke you up or- or something, but-" Seth stammered, lightly scratching his pooch behind the ear as he stared down at the ground. Dean adjusted his position, opening the door a little wider to expose more of himself. He suddenly didn't feel so self-conscious about his own appearance when the bearded man standing across from him was still in his dirty, worn out work clothes he'd been wearing since he'd left for work earlier that morning. "Right, uh.. I received a package addressed to you by mistake and just got off work about an hour ago, hence why I'm here at such a late hour." Seth then reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small cylindrical package and handing it over.

Dean stared blankly at him for a moment, wondering what on earth he'd ordered online in the last six months as he turned the small item over in his hands. The shape and size of the package seemed as though.. it could be misconstrued as something used for- it looked like a fucking sex toy, okay?

Dean snapped out of his thoughts at the knowledge that his lack of response could be taken as a bad thing. And, judging by what Seth said next, he probably had taken it as a not too great a thing.

"Don't worry, Dean.. I- I didn't open it or anything. Just read the name on the package and didn't really have time to drop it off before I had to rush off to work 'cause my boss is kinda an asshole and breathes down my neck like a goddamn dragon if I'm even a _second_ late- uh, I'm rambling again.. sorry. Just-" he hiked up the dog in his arms and looked to the ground once again. "Sorry I keep apologizing- uh.. damn. Have a good night, Mr... Dean. Have a good night, Dean."

"Ah, so my ketchup gun's finally here," Dean said aloud, finally realizing what it is he'd ordered a little over a month ago. And after a moment, he realized he was being just a little bit _too_ rude. He gets it, work is tiring and bosses suck ass. "Uh.. I appreciate you dropping this off, Seth. Was just falling asleep watching trashy reality TV anyway."

"Oh, it's nothing.. Dean. I uh, I like your pajamas." The man mustered up a tired, kind smile, gesturing toward Dean's old flannel pajamas with the hand that wasn't holding his dog he apparently took everywhere with him.

He tried to ignore the 'compliment', since it sounded like a bit of a dig toward his appearance. Though he found it to be difficult not to let the man's words get to him and make him hide behind the door. He stood with his feet firmly planted on the hardwood flooring, looking the Seth guy in the eye as he spoke his next words. "What's with the dog? You take it everywhere or somethin'?"

Seth seemed to become a little uncomfortable, holding the dog in one hand and rubbing at the back of his neck with the other. His hair was tied in a low hanging bun, as always, and he had on a pair of black thick-brimmed glasses. Overall, the man looked exhausted and just about ready to keel over and die, or at least take a thirty-seven hour long nap. "Uh, well, I wouldn't say _everywhere_ , but I try to spend as much time with him as I can outside of work since I can't exactly take him into a hard hat only area." He said with a wry chuckle.

"So, you a construction worker or somethin'?" Dean wondered aloud, curious as to what his bearded, dog carrying neighbor's occupation might be.

"Architect actually. A very busy, very tired one," the man made no move to leave, merely shifting his weight to rest on his other leg. Dean had noticed the way Seth seemed to favor his right leg. Especially when jogging. "What about you? Uh, I don't think I've ever really seen you outside your house much."

"Transcriptionist. Means I wrecked my shoulder wrestling in a shady part of town and my boss at my daytime job fired me, so now I work from home." He explained, watching as the man's expression turned from one of curiosity to sympathy. Or maybe it was pity.. He often times got looks of pity from people when he left the house wearing a sling to take some of the pressure off his bad shoulder, the only upside being that if he played up his injury a little, they usually let him cut in line at the grocery store.

"Oh, uh, I'm s- I mean, uh, that really sucks, man. But it's good that you can work from home. Means you have more time to.. do whatever it is Dean Ambrose does."

"Hm, what do I do? Well, let's see.. I don't have any friends, I don't own a pet, and I work a nine-to-five job. But I guess you're right, solitude is a hell of a lot better than being around people who suck ass at being halfway decent human beings."

Looking like he's just made the biggest mistake of his entire life, Seth's jaw dropped, his eyes widening almost comically as he took two steps away from him. "I- I- Sorry if I offended you in any way, Dean. That was not at all my intention, it just came out totally wrong and I-"

"Stop apologizing and just go home and get some rest. You look awful. Like you've been run over by a truck or somethin'." Guess it was time for _Dean_ to go around offending people and making them feel bad. Though Seth didn't look.. offended per se, he looked more.. he looked like he'd taken it as a joke.

"Feel like it too. Ah, night, Dean. Again, I hope my dog and I didn't disturb you."

"Well, at least you didn't apologize that time," Dean muttered under his breath, though it seemed the other man had still heard him. "Get some sleep, man." He slowly began shutting the door as his neighbor smiled a tired, closed mouth smile and slowly backed away from the door before turning on his heel and cautiously stepping off the porch. Dean shut the door with a soft click, walking over to his den to watch Seth look both ways before crossing the street back over to his own abode.

His neighbor wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting, and turned out to _not_ be a stripper. He was, in fact, an architect. Guess you shouldn't trust everything you see in Magic Mike.

And porn.

Dean now knew that Seth's dog was a boy, but he still didn't know his name. Maybe Rex?.. No, too overcompensating. It's probably something like Jason or Marvin.

He also couldn't help but notice how overworked and exhausted the man was. Not to mention how nervous he seemed. Maybe he thought that grouchy old Dean Ambrose would answer the door in his boxers, a dirty wife beater, a half-open robe and bite his head off for disturbing him at nine o'clock at night. Okay, he may have done the first thing a couple of times, but he's made an effort since then to dress semi-decently most days and not scowl too intensely at his frequent visitor.

He tossed his ketchup gun aside and lay back down on the couch to snuggle up close to a random throw pillow he had lying around. Which was very strange, as he didn't decorate things in his house. Especially not with _throw pillows_.

Lying on the couch, too lazy to get up and fall asleep in his own bed, Dean decided that that Seth guy was a halfway decent human being and that his dog wasn't nearly as awful as he'd initially thought it was. It was mild-mannered and maybe even a little bit cute. But just a teensy bit.


	4. Freudian slips

The next morning found Dean waking with a crick in his neck and a full bladder. Serves him right for falling asleep on the couch instead of walking the thirty feet it takes to get to his damn bedroom.

Yawning, he rolled off the couch, regretting it immediately. He'd been typing on his laptop all day yesterday and had forgotten to apply arnica salve and use a heating pad on his bad shoulder before going to bed. Though the main issue seemed to be the fact that he'd fallen asleep on the unforgiving couch.

Completely his fault, but he felt like blaming the universe instead.

He hobbled over to the bathroom, draining the Loch Ness Monster before stripping himself of his slightly sweaty pajamas and stepping into the shower he'd let heat up for a good minute. Standing under the warm stream of water felt oh-so-relaxing on his tired and achy muscles.

He only wished it could give his bum shoulder more than twenty minutes of sweet relief.

Once he'd gotten to the point in his shower where he actually had to begin scrubbing himself down with his obnoxiously bright pink loofa (courtesy of Daniel) instead of just standing there and moaning at how good it felt to loosen up and massage his injury, he began feeling the beginnings of irritation and a strange sense of emptiness and.. longing? at having to bend every which way to try and get that one spot between his shoulder blades.

He wished he had someone to help scrub that one spot for him... Hell, a loofa on a stick would suffice. Though he'd prefer one that wasn't bubblegum pink.

He allowed his thoughts to drift, let himself imagine for a moment how amazing it would feel to have someone else's hands on him, scrubbing all the hard to reach places, and how that would eventually lead to a sensual massage.

The filthy thoughts sent Dean's mind straight to the gutter. Giving him the motivation he needed to rid himself of his morning wood.

Thoughts of receiving such favors from someone invaded his mind every so often, though it was usually after going grocery shopping and meeting the eye of an attractive stranger he wouldn't dare speak to due to being wary of getting close to others and them ending up being awful human beings. So it was a bit out of left field that he'd be thinking of such things after not leaving the house for the last three- no, four days. The only person..s he's interacted with during that stretch of time have been the mailman and... his neighbor, Seth.

He wasn't lusting after his mailman, that guys like fifty-fucking-seven years old, so that only left... No. Nope. He is _not_ getting hard thinking of Seth's hands on his body, he is simply wanting somebody — somebody being anyone but his architect neighbor or the mailman —, to get close to and possibly intimate with.

But it would have to be anyone but his neighbor, the guy who carries his fucking dog literally everywhere with him. Well, everywhere but the construction site he works on. Stripper construction workers are extremely sexy, like the ones in Magic Mike, but Seth was... No. He wasn't sexy and Dean did not want to get to know him as a friend or anything more. Seth is a decent human being but that's it. Nothing more.

After finishing scrubbing away at his skin with pumpkin spice body wash (he stockpiled it, hence why he's using it to wash himself in the middle of February), he went on to wash his hair with cinnamon shampoo, which he _also_ stockpiled, since it meant he had to leave the house a lot less often.

He soon exited the shower, wrapping a pink paisley printed towel around his waist (again, courtesy of Daniel, the little fuck), and though his hair hit just below his ears, he wrapped a towel around his head like a turban.

He ignored the obnoxiously bright hued towel hanging low on his hips and got started on the rest of his morning routine which consisted of him vigorously brushing his teeth and half-assedly washing his face with a dollop of hand soap.

Right as he was about to put on a pair of underwear, there was a knock at the front door. Groaning, he wrapped the towel back around his waist and padded across the house to answer the door, all the while working to disentangle himself from the large towel wrapped around his head.

Water still dripping down his chest, he swung the door open, fully prepared to sign for a package or tell some bible-thumper that he knows God loves him unconditionally so they'll leave him alone. What he _wasn't_ prepared for was to see his neighbor who'd come to his house last night after he'd finished watching TV.

Once the initial shock had worn off, he closed the door a couple inches, hiding most of his body behind it for some inexplicable reason. Which was an odd thing for him to do, considering he usually didn't care who saw his exposed body, let alone his freaking chest. "Yeah?" He mumbled, noticing that the other man was wearing his typical work attire, the clothing looking very similar to what he wore yesterday. And, instead of his irritating dog, he had a hard hat in one hand and a magazine as well as few letters in the other.

"Sorry I'm... uh, bothering you so early in the morning, but I'm late for work and my boss is literally gonna eat me alive if I'm not there in twenty- I'm rambling again, aren't I?" Seth shifted his weight onto his other leg, his nervous brown eyes landing on Dean's exposed chest before quickly darting away. "I'm apologizing again too, aren't I? Fuck... Uh, right, well here's your mail that the goddamn mailman can't bother to deliver to the right address... Uh, I really gotta go now. Dean." Seth's dark, curious eyes once again found their way to Dean's chest as the latter accepted the mail from his outstretched hand.

"Right... Well, I appreciate your taking time away from driving to work to avoid having to face your bosses wrath to drop this off, sex- I mean Seth."

"N-no problem, Dean-o- I mean Dean. No problem at all. Just didn't want to have to wait until tonight to drop 'em off and risk bothering you or waking you up or- or.. great, I'm rambling again. Anyway, have a nice day. Promise I won't bother you again." Seth took a couple of shaky steps in retreat, now holding his hard hat in both hands.

There was no doubt in Dean's mind that his little Freudian slip had made Seth feel uncomfortable. Or flustered. God, he was so dumb he could've smacked himself upside the head. But, instead of showing any outward reaction to his own stupidity, Dean chose to pretend he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth and act like nothing happened.

"You too, man. And hey, don't.. don't let that boss of yours get to you. He sounds like a real grade-A asshole to me." Dean smirked, finding it rather difficult to prevent it from turning into a full-blown smile. He felt confused. Why was he.. _Was_ he trying to make the guy feel better about his shitty boss? 'Cause that sure as hell didn't sound like him.

"Bye, Dean." Seth smiled hesitantly, showing off a set of pearly white teeth. Dean couldn't help but notice the little gap between the two front ones. It wasn't.. bad per se, but it sure was distracting for some reason.

"Later, man." Dean hadn't realized it until the words were already out, but he practically invited the guy over again. Hopefully, he's wearing more than just a towel the next time Seth has to drop off some mail. 'Cause knowing their mailman, there's _going_ to be a next time.

Seth broke eye contact to stare down at his boot-clad feet for a long moment; his nimble fingers fiddling with the hat in his hands. Then, without bothering to look up, he turned on his heel and scurried across the street to where his car was parked.

Dean shook his head at the man's antics as he shut and locked the two locks on the door. He finished getting dressed then made a hotdog with tons of condiments for breakfast.

And, after that was all said and done, it was time for work.

Throughout the whole writing-down-everything-the-eccentric-announcers-are-saying process, he kept getting sidetracked thinking about his not-horrible interaction with Seth. Maybe their interaction was less.. weird? Bad? than usual because his dog wasn't around to be irritating and furry.

He huffed, pushing all thoughts of his strange, dog-loving neighbor aside to focus on his _work_ , you know, the thing that pays the fucking bills?

He has a physical therapy appointment scheduled for tomorrow. Meaning that he likely won't be in his den to see Seth jog past his house. But why would that matter anyway? It's not like he _wants_ to see that. It's nothing but a distraction from his work.

Brushing hotdog bun crumbs off his hands, he adjusted his headphones and got back to work. A little less distracted this time.

A few hours later he decided to finally go outside and check his mailbox. The damn choo choo train always threw him off, making him glare at the thing as he opened its little door and flipped through all the junk he'd been sent. Turns out he got not one, not two, but _three_ of Seth's letters. It's almost like their mailman _wants_ them to interact all the time. Though the rational part of Dean knows it's just the mailman not knowing how to do his fucking job. His old age and the fact that he's foreign most definitely factoring into that equation.

He contemplated running across the street to drop off the mail but thought better of it when he remembered the video he'd paused to check his choo choo train in the first place. He had a deadline and if he didn't get finished transcribing the damn thing by five o'clock.. well, he'd risk losing his only source of income. And damn, did it pay _well_.

"Well fuck," he muttered, closing his mailbox's hatch and heading back inside his house. He left the letters by the door in hopes he'd remember to drop them off before his neighbor arrives home later in the day so they wouldn't have to have some sort of awkward 'I saw you a few hours ago' type of interaction. Dean _really_ hated those.

By the time it was a quarter 'til five, Dean was finished with work for the day; relieved that the wrestling episode he transcribed was only fifty minutes long rather than the typical ninety-minute ones. He sent the e-mail to his employer and closed his laptop, feeling exhausted and just about ready to lie down and never wake up again. Instead of being a responsible adult and grabbing the mail by his front door to drop it off at the house across the street from his, he walked over to, not the couch, but his bedroom and flopped down on his unmade bed. Rolling around in the many sheets and blankets until he looked like a multi-colored burrito.

He came to many, _many_ hours later. The sun had long since set and his bladder was full. Meaning it must've been a little past eight or nine. Chancing a glance at his phone, he realized it was ten and he'd been sleeping for half the fucking day.

He made a quick trip to the bathroom then slipped a coat overtop his hoodie before heading out the door and attempting to stealthily set the mail on his neighbor's porch without making a scene or alerting Seth or one of his other neighbors of his presence.

He'd just set the mail down and was about to turn and head back home when a loud, gruff voice seized his movements.

"Hey, you!"

He hesitantly turned to face the voice belonging to a behemoth of a man with long, dark tendrils of hair framing his chiseled jaw, who was staring him down and slowly coming closer and closer and _closer_ until he was only a foot away from him. He gulped but stood his ground, looking the giant, tatted up man in the eye as best he could in the dark of the night.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"'Was dropping off some mail that got sent to me by mistake. Blame my ancient, foreign mailman. What about you, Big Dog? Never seen you 'round here before." Dean narrowed his eyes at the imposing man, wondering if he was here to try and rob Seth. It wasn't very likely though, considering he called Dean out first. Most burglars don't call someone out when they themselves are trying to be sneaky and inconspicuous.

"Ah, so you were just being a Good Samaritan, weren't you? Past ten at night, huh?" The man said, sounding rather accusatory. "And if you must know, I'm the best friend of the guy who lives here. Haven't got to see him a whole lot ever since my wife had a baby. Probably why you haven't seen me around much. You know, _if_ you even live on this street."

"Woah there, Big Dog. If you want proof I live across the street just look at the mail I set on the porch. The numbers are almost the same as my houses."

" _I'll_ be the judge of that," the man muttered, bending over to pick the white envelopes up off the ground. "Well, it looks like your story checks out. But I'm still gonna ask Seth if he knows a big, hobo-ish looking guy with an attitude."

"He knows you, doesn't he?" Dean raised an eyebrow at the man stood across from him, no longer feeling the need to try and keep his snarkiness at bay.

"Hey-" the Big Dog growled, catching onto the dig Dean had made towards him. The man then sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, apparently feeling the need restrain himself like a good little attack dog that just had his leash shortened by a good foot. "Have a good night, sir." He finished, smiling a totally fake smile as he shouldered past Dean to get to the door.

"Dean,"

"What?" The man turned to glare at him.

"The names Dean, Big Dog."

"Roman." The man he now knew to be Roman huffed out before reaching into his pocket to pull out a key. He unlocked the door and headed inside with Seth's mail in hand.

Dean could hear the faintest of whispers come from the house as he walked across the lawn that looked almost blue at this time of night, and made his way home.


End file.
